


Matters of Luck and Death

by Golbez



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crying Gangsters, Gen, Sadstuck, Spoilers, insomnia fueled writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golbez/pseuds/Golbez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clover comes to terms with Quarters' disappearance, and everything else that follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matters of Luck and Death

**Author's Note:**

> This was, as is usual for me, written over the course of a few insomnia-ridden nights. What's unusual for me is how quickly the story came together, and how easy it was to piece and write down. This is, however, unbeta-ed and thus if there are any errors, do let me know!
> 
> That said, lots of love and thanks to Nurse Tiger for letting me bounce ideas off him, and the stream crew (you know who you are) for letting me punch them in the feels every few minutes or so.

It wasn't uncommon to see multiple versions of any one member of the Felt in the mansion, after all, they messed with time enough to probably have hundreds of doomed timelines out there.

Still, Clover can't shake the feeling that something is wrong when Quarters suddenly disappears, replaced by another Clover.

The other Clover looks surprised for a moment, then sighs.

"I'm back here, am I...?" he whispers, almost disbelieving. Clover isn't sure he wants to know why.

"Yup. Welcome back to the Mansion," says Clover, smiling at his duplicate. The duplicate doesn't say anything for a moment, then bursts into tears.

Clover isn't sure what to do. He's never dealt with another version of himself crying before. He reaches over and places a hand on the other's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"You're - You're very lucky, you know," says his counterpart.

"I know," answers Clover immediately. Of course he's lucky. He's the luckiest of the Felt, so lucky that fate herself could not touch him.

"No," says the other Clover, voice cracking as though he hasn't cried in a very long time, "You don't understand. Not yet."

And Clover isn't sure he does. This other version of him sounds older than him, sounds tired, really. Clover wonders where Quarters is right now. They had just been preparing for a nice night out when this happened. Wherever he is, Clover hopes he's okay.

"The others - are they here?" His counterpart's words snap him out of his thoughts, and he nods. The other Clover almost looks relieved.

"I want to see them," says the older Clover. "I want to see them one last time."

Clover isn't sure he likes what that implies.

***

Time moves on, and Clover quickly forgets about that one odd version of him. There are other copies over the years, but all of them leave the same way: with Die. The sullen Felt uses his doll to bring doomed copies of the gang out of this timeline.

Some of them survive the trip. Others don't.

Clover sees many versions of himself sent off to Die, but not once does he really think much of them.

He never really does see Quarters again though, and there are no other versions of him. It's as though he's simply disappeared. The Midnight Crew takes credit for killing Quarters. Clover lets them do what they want, no matter how much he wants to attack Slick and wrestle the truth from him. He doesn't know if they really did kill Quarters, or if it's all part of their propaganda machine. 

He can't even use his coin to see Quarters again.

And the others don't seem to notice how... _wrong_ it is. They accept Quarters' disappearance as fact. After all, they all die almost everyday, somewhere, sometime. Oh, some of them miss him sometimes, but only in passing wistfulness and none of them knew him as well as Clover did, none of them miss him the way he does. 

Except Cans, maybe. The fifteenth of the Felt gives him odd glances, almost pitying sometimes, until one day after a raid, he approaches. 

"Are you all right, Clover?" he asks, dropping his false accent.

"I'm fine," answers Clover. "The Crew can't touch me, remember?"

"That's not what I meant," says Cans, but he doesn't elaborate, never brings it up again, and that makes Clover angry. No one ever explains things to him. _He's_ supposed to be the cryptic one, the one nobody understands, but it seems that he can't understand anything lately, not even himself.

Matchsticks is the next to disappear and never come back, walking into an explosion muttering something about alarms and motor oil. The rest of the Felt present stop and watch, even though they should be rushing to put out the flames engulfing the Mansion.

It's as though they all can tell they'll never see Matchsticks ever again. Clover can feel it too, standing there beside Cans.

Matchsticks doesn't even say goodbye, and then he's gone.

Clover can't say he'll miss the eleventh, but to lose another one of them so easily, so simply...he engulfs himself in his riddles and games to forget. 

Then, a few months later, Slick finally kills Crowbar, and the Felt falls into chaos.

***

"What are we going to do _now_?"

Clover hears this question several times over the week after Crowbar dies. The seventh had been in charge, had figured out a Plan with Snowman's guidance and had prepared them for every possibility. Every possibility but his own death, apparently. Crowbar was supposed to be untouchable. Slick had proven otherwise to the universe, violently. 

Clover spends this time sitting on Cans' shoulder, watching him argue with Snowman and Stitch and all the rest about their next course of action. With Crowbar dead, they have no other option but to stick to the Plan. Some have their misgivings, but Clover can't imagine them doing anything else but going through with everything that had been laid out before them.

He says as much, and Die actually backs him up.

"The other timelines are pretty fucked up. We stick to Crowbar's Plan, we live longer."

Clover wonders if there isn't another reason Die is so keen on what Crowbar would have wanted. 

"Any word from Lord English?" asks Stitch. As one, the green-skinned members of the Felt turn to look at Snowman, sitting at the head of the table. Crowbar's chair to her right is empty.

The former Queen takes a long drag from her cigarette, then straightens herself. "None. Our master has been silent."

Clover can see the question on everyone's faces, though no one speaks now. Clover, too, would like to know where Lord English is. Would like to know who he is, what he's doing in this time of his gang's greatest need. They're all painfully aware that only Snowman has had direct contact with Lord English, and still they're all as loyal as they can be.

Clover hops off Cans' shoulder, sitting down on the table itself.

"Hey, let's go over the Plan again," he suggests. There's murmurs of agreement all around, and Itchy helps Snowman lay out the notes and maps and everything they'll need.

During the discussion that ensues, Clover can almost feel Crowbar present again, and he thinks maybe Crowbar would be proud at the way everyone seems to secretly know the Plan by heart.

***

Days stretch into weeks. Weeks into months. The City discovers the Felt can be determinedly ruthless when they want to be. The City discovers what the Felt is without their leader, as do the Felt themselves.

This doesn't change the fact that Crowbar's absence leaves a gap in their level of organization then and now. Snowman tries though. Snowman and Stitch and Cans and Sawbuck. The others try too. Clover figures these past few months are the closest any of them have been with each other.

He puts away his riddles and games and throws himself into the Plan as much as he can, using his luck to make sure everything turns out right. They can't afford to lose anyone, even if Crowbar prepared for that, wrote in adjustments for dwindling numbers. Clover becomes quiet, never straying far from anyone in imminent danger, acting as a sort of ward against death for his teammates.

Sometimes they talk to him and he soaks up everything he can learn about them. Stores the information away in his mind. Keeps track of what's going on with all of them. The only one he doesn't get to talk to much is Snowman. She doesn't need his luck, after all. A single click of her heels is enough to stop even the most violent of men. 

Turns out she does need his luck, but on her own terms.

***

The scent of smoke alerts Clover to Snowman's presence even before he announces herself. She must have phased in, as Clover didn't hear the door open or close.

"You've been more quiet lately." Snowman's low voice slides over him, ever soothing, but Clover thinks he picks up a bit of concern in her tone today.

"Have I?" he asks. When she nods, Clover rocks in place on the railing, feet dangling precariously over the side of the Mansion roof.

"I don't want to distract anyone from the Plan," he tells her, "Now's not the time for riddles and games."

She's silent as she comes closer, the only sound the clicking of her heels against dark green stone. Snowman leans against the railing, smoke trailing after her. Clover coughs. She quickly snubs her cigarette out against the railing.

"The kingdom I ruled was at constant war, you know," she says. "In fact, we knew nothing beyond war. Everything we did was to further our efforts. It didn't matter because we were destined for victory, because we had a plan to follow."

Clover nods, understanding vaguely the connection of her story to the Felt as they were now, though he isn't sure why she's telling him this. 

"But in war, happier soldiers were better fighters. Morale was among the most important of things to maintain in an army. Besides, dark kingdom or not, one cannot deny that all rulers should...would revel in the joy of their citizens." Snowman pauses and Clover can't read her expression. "I failed in that regard."

Clover stares at her. She isn't the infallible Snowman right now, the former Queen who is ever graceful, ever an enigma. Right now Clover sees her admitting her weakness, showing him her vulnerability. Her burden of carrying so much on her shoulders, of having so much attached to her name.

He can't imagine such a life, but he does know what it's like to fail.

"I think I understand," he says. 

She smiles, and lights up her cigarette again.

The next day he tricks everyone into playing a few games with him. They grumble and call him a little shit but by the end of the day the general mood seems to be so much better.

Clover shares a little smile with Snowman, an assurance to her that no, she'll not fail in her duties this time.

***

Clover perches near the vault, watching everything going on below him. The Midnight Crew are here, at long last, but Clover finds nothing but a dull ache in his chest when he thinks of them. Where has his anger over Quarters, over Crowbar, over _everything_ gone to?

He settles for being relatively helpful. He tells them what they need to know about the vault and it isn't as though they can act on the information. Crowbar is dead and not here.

But he underestimates the Midnight Crew. Slick gets his hands on some other timeline's Crowbar - Clover can feel his hatred and anger growing again when he realizes this - and everything goes to hell and that's when Clover realizes his - _their_ mistake. 

Die had been lying when he assured them of their survival. Members of the Felt are dropping like flies left and right, and Clover -

Clover just laughs and giggles at the Crew. Everything is so funny right now. Everything is a joke, yet also an answer to another one of his clever little riddles. They're all going to die. They're all going to disappear.

This is the ultimate riddle.

Life is such a joke. 

But Clover isn't ready to die. Not yet. He's going to stop the Midnight Crew, spinning riddles and tricks at them. 

They threaten him. Clover just laughs. He's the luckiest member of the Felt. _They can't touch him and they can die trying._

Cans arrives, and Clover just laughs some more.

***

Slick is an idiot, thinks Clover, as his world crumbles around him.

***

He's alone.

Clover isn't sure where he is, or what's happened. All he knows is he's alone.

No, he's not. Cans is here, arm wrapped around Clover, as though protecting him. But no, Cans was the one who needed the protection, the luck.

Cans' skin is pale, and his large body is limp. Clover snuggles as close as he can, trying to catch as much of the escaping warmth as possible, and he cries, because he's alone after all.

He's the luckiest of the Felt, so lucky that Fate herself could not touch him.

Would not.

***

Clover doesn't move for the longest time. He stays in Cans' stiffening arms, soaked in his own tears. He simply can't find the energy to move. After all, life's a joke and he's alone and just so alone and Clover hates everything and

"It's unbecoming of a servant of Lord English to give in to death so quickly."

It's a voice he's never heard before, echoing out of the darkness. Firm. Confident. Calm. Chiding him.

He shifts, and slowly climbs up Cans, then peers out from over the dead man's shoulder. 

"...Lord English?" whispers Clover. 

"Not quite," says the man with no face.

***

The littlest of the Felt buries the largest of the Felt himself, and the man with no face, Doc Scratch he had called himself, does not seem to mind. Clover digs and digs and digs, and the dirt and the effort keeps his mind blank. He's tired and sore and he wants to just curl up and cry some more, but he persists, and Doc Scratch lets him do what he must.

When it comes to moving Cans, Doc Scratch steps in, and in a single snap, the fifteenth is in his grave, and Clover sags to his knees, exhausted.

Then his savior brings him to a place so like the Mansion, Clover has to check himself from wandering off. It's not exactly the same, but similar enough that Clover can just imagine the others wandering the halls, laughing and playing and just being themselves again.

It doesn't even hurt anymore.

***

Of course Snowman is alive. How can she not be when the world has not even ended yet? Clover nearly bowls her over when he runs to her and hugs her and sobs into her coat and gosh I'm so happy to see you I'm sorry I failed and

Snowman doesn't say anything, just placing a hand on his back.

The next day she disappears again, heels clicking against dark green stone, not even a goodbye for him to remember her by.

***

Months later, Clover discovers there's someone else in these rooms, a gray skinned creature with horns. Clover keeps his distance, even when it - she? - tries to get him to talk to it - her.

Besides, he has a feeling Doc Scratch would not be pleased if he offered his luck to the creature with horns.

***

Fire.

Clover hears and smells and sees it. There's fire and the alarms are blaring and Clover can feel it in his bones that this - this is it.

He runs and skids into the study and there, with his back to Clover, is Matchsticks.

Stoically putting out fires. Unaware of Spades Slick, approaching him.

Clover shrieks Matchsticks' name, but he's too late. Iron hits flesh with horrific wet sounds, and Clover is helpless to stop it. He sinks to the floor, gripping his head and...

A coin slips out from under his hat. A special coin. Clover looks down at it and hesitates. There's no way it'll work. There's no way it can. Quarters has been dead for many years now.

But what if he's lucky enough?

Slick turns to face Clover, and Clover can see all the pain etched onto the carapaced face. They've both lost everything, everyone, haven't they?

But all of this had been Slick's fault. 

"You're out of luck, fucker," snaps Clover, and he tosses the coin into the air.

***

It wasn't uncommon to see multiple versions of any one member of the Felt in the mansion, after all, they messed with time enough to probably have hundreds of doomed timelines out there.

And Clover blinks, and stares into the face of a younger version of himself, and thinks, _no_.

This can't be happening. This _can't_.

But it has to, hasn't it?

"I'm back here, am I...?" he whispers, afraid. It's all such a bad dream. Such a terrible nightmare. He can't believe it.

"Yup. Welcome back to the Mansion," says his younger counterpart.

The Mansion. Yes. That's right. This Clover before him hasn't been through what he's been through. Doesn't know what he knows.

Clover wishes he didn't say "Mansion." He wishes he said "home."

The tears come unbidden. 

"What's wrong?"

Clover fights down his tears, fights down all the words that threaten to spill from his mouth. He has so much he wants to say, so much he wants to tell himself, so much he regrets. 

"You're - You're very lucky, you know," is all he can manage. 

"I know," answers the other immediately. Clover grimaces. Of course. He made that same mistake all those years ago. 

"No," he tells the younger Clover. "You don't understand. Not yet."

They both fall quiet and it dawns on Clover that he's _back in the mansion_. And everyone is alive.

"The others - are they here?" When the younger one nods, he adds, " I want to see them. I want to see them one last time."

Everyone is alive. Everyone, except Quarters.

***

Clover looks up at Die, taking in his face, his appearance. Everything. He wants to remember everything he can about everyone, because he can't have even that for Quarters, and this is the best he can do now. Besides, he doesn't know where he's going. He's going to need some familiar faces with him.

Die's grip on his doll his firm. "You look like you've been through hell."

"Feels like I have," answers Clover.

Die pauses, then kneels and hugs him. "Just this once, midget."

Clover closes his eyes and pretends an eternity passes in that hug. It makes him feel...better. He thinks maybe he should...could forgive Die for lying to them after all. 

Then Die is releasing him and standing up and straightening his coat. Clover smiles up at him, knowing that it's time, and this is it. No more turning back. 

"All right, Clover," he says, preparing his pins, "Who's dead in your timeline?"

Clover laughs, because that right there is the joke.

He looks up straight into Die's eyes, and says,

"Everyone."


End file.
